What a day!

So today I thought I would give my email a quick check and then do some sewing, as I applied for a table at the Dublin Flea Market. If I get it, I'll need to kick it into high gear with the sewing in order to have enough stuff. But just as I got on, I heard from a guy, we'll call him "Josh," who had contacted me recently because, by coincidence he and his wife relocated here to Dublin from Boston at almost the exact same time I came here. Weird coincidence, isn't it?He found my blog through a google search while job hunting. We'd exchanged a few emails and it seems like we've both been going through the same job search frustrations, and living in a new place with few friends frustrations. He caught me on gchat and we were talking about sites around town. I mentioned the mummies at St. Michan's Church, and neither of us had been. So we decided that since it was a beautiful day to get out of the house, we'd meet up and check it out.

We met at a bakery/cafe called Queen of Tarts (their website appears to be down for the moment), where I had a Red Onion and Potato Tart. At 9.95euro, it was more than I wanted to spend on a quick bite to eat (I wasn't terribly hungry, but I wanted more than just a scone), but it came with a large piece of focacia bread, dill potato salad, and a mixed green salad.

We headed in the direction of St. Michan's, and armed with my Dublin City map we figured we would find it no problem. But when we came upon where it appeared to be on the map, the two buildings that it seemed most likely to be didn't seem to be it. So we roamed on. We asked three different people for directions, and each person gave us different directions. Finally, I thought for sure that a church-like building ahead was the one we were looking for, so Josh asked a guy where St. Michan's was. And the guy pointed to that building. Eureka! So we crossed the street and approached the building. But as we got closer, we had our doubts. Just then, a voice from behind us said, "Lookin' for St. Michan's, are you?" We said yeah. He said, "That guy back there sent you over here but he actually doesn't know where St. Michan's is, so he sent me to follow you to show you where it is." The guy sent to follow us had just been on the Guinness tour and he himself admitted that he was half in the bag, but he led us to this main street and then told us to go up and take a right hand turn. "You can't miss it," he kept saying. Well, that's what the other two people said. After he walked on, I said to Josh, "I don't believe that guy." So Josh called his wife at the office, and between my map and google maps she was able to direct us to where we needed to go....

...which was right back to where we started. As it happens, St. Michan's, being so old, is actually not a very ostentatious building, and does not have a big sign on it. So with a metaphorical slap to the forehead, we walked in. After Josh very generously paid our entrance fee (I think it was five euro), we were told to go into the chapel and have a look around and wait for our tour guide. A woman from Germany walked in a few minutes later to join us, as we were poking around. Then, as we were inspecting the artifacts at the rear of the church, a man's voice called out, "Who wants to see the mummies?"

He led us outside, and to the side of the building. While we walked he asked where we were from, and if we'd ever been to St. Michan's before. I said I hadn't, but that my husband had as a child, and he'd actually been able to touch one of the mummies, and that my father in law had been able to shake hands with one of them when he visited as a kid. The tour guide gave me a very exaggerated "very unlikely" look and then made the index finger around the ear "you're crazy" signal. Balancing a lit and mostly smoked cigarette on the stone wall, he opened the bulkhead, went down, turned on the light, and came back up. Picking the cigarette back up, and taking the last few drags, he directed us to head down the stone steps. With much apprehension, we crawled down into the vaults. I forgot my camera, so I'm borrowing photos, found online. Here's where we had to walk down:


The tour guide was funny. He had an animated way of speaking that was manufactured to sound like he was sort of bored. We walked down this long hallway:

off of which, we were able to view this:


One of the mummies, the one at the back, is supposed to be a Crusader (we won't mind the dates, which, according to my research, don't match up with when the vaults were created). His body is 800 years old. And he is 'round about six feet tall (or should I say he was before someone broke his legs to fit him into his casket), which is tall for now, let alone 800 years ago. And you can tell from the size of his hands that he was a tall dude. But as the tour guide noted, he is missing one of his fingers, and his hand is in that position because....aha! they used to let people shake hands with the Crusader!! It was supposed to be good luck. But it wasn't like a proper hand shake -- more like a little touch of the hand. And then...the tour guide beckoned for us to come close, and he said that if we promised to give the Crusader 15% of all of our lottery winnings, he would allow us to touch him. And he moved the grate over to the side and told us to go in and have a go. The three of us were totally flabbergasted and stood there for a few moments stammering. I did the "after you" signal in a feigned gesture of politeness. Josh went in first, paused, bent over the mummy for a few seconds , and then stood up straight, and walked out without touching it. Then I went in. Man it was SO MUCH scarier inside the doorway with the mummies! I, too, bent over. And I almost lost my nerve. But then I thought of my lousy luck and the two job rejection emails I received this morning, and I thought, "Angela, don't blow this. You gotta touch that mofo mummy, even if it's just a stupid superstitious myth!" So I lightly touched the hand of the Crusader on a dark, shiny spot where you could tell it had been touched many, many times before by other poor saps in my same spot. Then I got the hell out of there. The German woman went in last. She bent down with her hand out, and was within a centimeter of touching the mummy, but as if repelled by a magnetic force, she recoiled and ran out of the vault.

There were other parts of the tour, which I will not retell -- y'all have google and can look up St. Michan's yourself. But it was definitely worth the trip out, and even the getting lost and misled for a bit.

Afterwards, since we were in the neighborhood, we headed over to the Dice Bar for a pint, and Josh agreed that it does resemble the Plough and Stars in Cambridge, MA. Tom Waits was playing, which was nice.

On my way home, I made my usual mistake of just randomly heading in a direction before thinking about where the hell I'm going. But I stopped and looked at my map and realized that I wasn't so far off from a very decent way of going home. Then I turned a corner and recognized a pub that I'd been to from my visit in 2007, so I knew I was at least somewhere near a place I'd been. I kept the faith and sure enough! I popped out close to the house, and was excited that I'd found a new way of getting from point a to point b.

Then upon my arrival, I sat down to my computer to check my email and wouldn't you know? I won tickets to see the new production of Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors that's happening at The Abbey Theatre! I entered into an online drawing a couple of days ago on the website Culch.ie, and I have to admit I had a lucky feeling when I did. I can't wait to see it!

That's all to report for now. But isn't that enough? Today I touched the bare hand of a mummified Crusader. What will tomorrow bring?

uh....so I've been known to eat myself a Pot Noodle now and again. And for my fellow Americans, no, that is not a drug reference, it's a type of instant noodle that's almost exactly like the Ramen Cup o' Noodle. So today, I scarfed one down (curry flavor, of course), and not surprisingly my stomach immediately reacted unfavorably. If it could speak, I'm pretty sure it would have said, "Bitch, no." That got me wondering about the Pot Noodle, so I looked up their website. And man, this website is weirding me out.

POT NOODLE

I think perhaps most disturbing promotional game you can play called "Food Fight:"

"So you think you’re hotter than a Bombay Bad Boy? Well, now you can prove it by taking on our very own Pot Noodle super-dwarfs in the Pot Noodle Food Fight. We’ll arm you with a pugil stick to try and knock the super-dwarf off the podium, but your pecs will provide the real power."

Yes, that's right. Super-dwarfs. I really would like to have been in this brainstorming session at the marketing company that came up with this campaign. "Well, we need something interactive to get people really involved with the site, you know, something to get them excited about the Pot Noodle brand. What gets people really, really excited to eat Noodles? Of course! Nothing makes people more ravenous for noodles than fighting dwarfs! Who doesn't love to fight dwarfs? Brilliant!"

Originally I thought this was an online game. But no. This is something live that happens in person. The Pot Noodle promotional team actually goes to events with their Super-Dwarfs to promote their products. Here are some photos from the site, in case you are too (justifiably) horrified to click on it yourself:
The Super-Dwarfs

At the Southend Airshow

At "Street Life"


But maybe even more baffling, if you can imagine, is this "funny" video about a guy who eats too many Pot Noodles and turns into a half man-half sheep. Um...what do noodles have to do with sheep? You tell me.

Saturday Mark was scheduled to work at the Dublin Food Coop for a few hours, so I spent some time trying to finish that damned silk dress that has been hanging over my head. But then after a while I had the brilliant idea that since I had to bike to our evening plans and couldn't wear the long dress I'd had planned, that I should make myself a quick little number, ala Cinderella. So I set to work with a cowl-neck top pattern that I have been wanting to make as a dress. I sped along, but alas, I only got about 3/4 of the way through the dress before I had to jump in the shower in order to leave and meet Mark. We had tickets to see A Certain Ratio at The Button Factory. So I put together a bike-ready ensemble and ran out the door.

The show was enjoyable, though not so well attended. When we first walked in, we were among only a handful of people there. The opening band was not unpleasant -- they weren't horrible, but they didn't blow me away either. Then again, I'm trying to remember the last time a band or musician blew me away...hmmm. We realized, when A Certain Ratio hit the stage, that we'd been sitting next to two of the band members (the female singer and the guitarist). They put on a good show:




Then we headed over to Seomra Spraoi for the Queer Spraoi Ball, but sadly by then it was already midnight, and Seomra Spraoi had turned into a pumpkin and they weren't letting anyone else in, which actually was understandable since the event was to end at one am. So as a consolation prize, I agreed to grab "just one drink" at Fibber Magees. We biked back towards town and popped in.

I don't really mind the place so much, but when you walk in, you do get smacked in the face with the smell of hairspray and farts. That's really the best way to describe it. It's a strange melange of folks who congregate there -- from normy dudes to metalheads to goth chicks to what Mark would describe as "hipsters" -- and there are always really horrendously bad patent leather garments (usually boots you'd imagine a stripper would wear or a corset), bad dreadlocks, 90s-style manic panic hair, and someone asleep. On this night, the place was particularly trashed because there had been a show, so there was broken glass all over the floor. But still, even though it sounds like I'm cutting down the place, I actually don't mind it there. Good people watching, as you can imagine. And if you're not in the mood to talk, you can watch people play pool. Or you can place bets on who is going to fall asleep next.

Yesterday I volunteered for most of the day at Seomra Spraoi in the kitchen for the cafe that was open from 3 to 5. This happens every Sunday, and if you haven't been and you live in Dublin, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT. There's a suggested donation, which is always very, very reasonable (I think yesterday it was 4 euro), and you get to stuff your face with the most delicious vegan food. We made a lovely eggplant,zucchini, lentil dish with brown rice, served with a mixed lettuce salad and a cucumber mint salad, multi-grain bread, and then this amazing dessert topped with this toffee sauce. Yum yum yummmm.

Spending the day there, I was able to speak with some new people I'd never met before, as well as those I had, and all in all keep working on establishing ties in my community here. In particular I spoke with a woman who happens to be getting her PhD at Mark's school -- not in the same department, but in a kinda-sorta related one, and I think they would probably have some things to talk about if they met, so I hope to see her again around town.

Even though I was totally beat, I relaxed for a couple of hours at home and then Mark and I headed over to Cabra to spend time at the pub with his parents and uncle. They were all very lively and had the gift of gab last night! But by some grace, I mustered up the energy to be attentive and enjoy every second of the story telling without yawning once. Mark very happily reported his good marks, and they seemed quietly proud of his work. I always enjoy going up to see them because it reminds me of why I am here, because sometimes I do get down in the dumps and even a little homesick. But being with Mark's family makes me feel like I have family here, even if it's by marriage. I'm starting to feel a sense of belonging, anyways, if only the beginning of that emotion. And I suppose that's the first step in shirking the label of stranger.

Yesterday Mark said to me, "You know, sometimes, you aren't all there." And while that *really* is the pot calling the kettle black, I have to admit that yes, I am one of those creative types who can get bogged down with certain details only to let other details...slip. Also, I have a crap memory at times, I will admit it. And I can be flighty. And clumsy. Sue me! (Well, actually, please don't sue me.) And if I'm in a rush or if my blood sugar is low, you can kinda forget it -- I have a 70% chance of doing something wackadoo.

So I had this interview today at 2:30pm with a recruiter who had me in mind for a position. But there was a job listing for a Library Assistant for the college that is literally at the end of our street that I saw yesterday afternoon and the closing date was today at noon. They wouldn't accept applications via email, so my only hope was to hand deliver it. When I woke up, I opened the Application Form that I had downloaded, and it was all kinds of bug. They wanted to know what high school I went to, and other various information that seemed a bit perplexing. But I attached my CV and a nice cover letter, put it in an envelope with the name of the HR manager on it, and walked it over to the college at a few minutes to 12. On the way I prayed to everyone in my life that I feel is looking over me (I don't believe in God, but I pray to the dead. It doesn't make sense but there you have it).

On the way back, I stopped at the bakery for a loaf of bread, and was headed home to prepare for my interview, feeling rather satisfied with myself, until I realized suddenly that I forgot to sign and date the stupid application form. There was no time to go back, so the best I can really hope for is that it won't matter. But with my luck, they'll be like, "Attention to details, eh?? The bimbo forgot to sign the application!" and then throw it in the circular file.

I arrived to my interview on time (thank to a taxi ride - whoops), and the woman interviewing me was extremely nice, and kindly informed me that on my CV I should note that I have a spousal visa and do not need sponsorship. I thought that saying I had a PPS number was enough but apparently anyone can get one of them! So this may explain why in 3 months of applying for jobs I haven't received one call-back for work. MAJOR BUM OUT! But glad to know now, I guess.

So we talk and she asks me what my typing speed is. Well, when I type words from my head, it's *very* fast. According to my last internet typing test, it was like 95 wpm. So that's what I said. She asked if I minded taking a typing test, and I said not at all. She set up the test, told me what I needed to do, and said she was late for a meeting but that when I was finished, I was free to go. But of course when I sat down and started doing the practice test, it's like I choked! I was typing all slow suddenly, and much more deliberately. And you know how it is typing on a foreign keyboard. I realized how hungry I was, and dehydrated. I started stressing out and feeling lightheaded! So I took some deep breaths and got the swing of it, and when it was time to do the actual test, I started to feel a bit better. I thought, I'll just scootch my chair up a bit closer to the keyboard, and then as I scootched, my chair hit something and pew! The computer just shut down. It felt like a horrible nightmare. I looked down at the floor. The tiny leg of my chair managed to bump the tiny button of the computer and had shut it off. There I was in an empty room, the computer was shut down, and I had just seen that only a password would turn it back on again, so I was pretty much screwed.

I headed sheepishly back out to the reception desk and explained what had happened. Then I had to wait for the receptionist to get the woman who interviewed me to come back and re-set up the machine. She was, as always, very kind and said that I wasn't the first person it had happened to. Then she was off again. I sat down once more and did the shittiest typing job ever, and left, feeling like I've simply lost my interviewing mojo.

On my way home I did a little shopping and bought some vegetarian treats for us (soy custard, veggie sausage, fake cheese), some new pillows, and a bath mat. Then I piled myself on the bus and settled in because we hit some serious traffic. I was feeling a little sorry for myself, wondering if I had blown both of my chances for employment of the day, when I looked up and saw a proper rainbow out of the bus window. I took my camera out and snapped a photo:


I know that, with all the rain that happens here, rainbows are a common occurrence. I mean, where do you think the whole leprechaun/gold at the end of the rainbow thing came from? But the narcissist in me felt just then that the rainbow was a special message from all the people I'd prayed to earlier in the day, telling me not to give up and that things will be ok.

I stopped by the grocery store and bought some Vodka and Pomegranate juice, and helped an old lady with her groceries, which always feels good, doesn't it? Then Mark came home with his grade results -- he has received As on all of the papers he wrote last semester, with many positive comments from his professors. I admit to getting a little teary eyed when I thought of it, and of the hard times we've had. Mark's going back to school for something he feels passionately about is truly a blessing in both of our lives. So - everything balances out, if you look for the positive and remain persistent in your pursuit of the things you want in life. Like my dad says, I just gotta keep hustling!

And because I am so swift...

Today I decided to go back to earnestly looking for a job, since American Apparel sent me the official rejection email this morning. I was actually happy about it because I've heard so many horrible, horrible things about that company it's not even funny. And a friend of mine was just let go from one of their stores, so I'm not feeling so hot about them anyways. Also, their stuff is way overpriced. If I worked there I don't know what I'd wear because I have actively boycotted their clothing almost since the beginning.

But it was a job, and I would have taken it.

So miraculously my phone rings just now. My phone never rings. That's why I barely know how to use it. So I press a button, think it's the wrong one, say, "Shit," then press another button, and the call is lost. I then realize that I have answered the phone, said, "Shit," and sent the call to voicemail. And Guess who? A person about a job I've just applied for. She leaves a voicemail (praise god, as the Irish would say). I call back and I'm all, "Sorry I *just* missed your call," and she says, "Yes, I think you had some technical difficulties there." Ahem. Yes. Yes I did. How mortifying.

Anyways I have an interview for tomorrow afternoon. I wish I had a nice interview suit, but I don't. I'll have to pull something together. Wish me luck!

So in my continued efforts to get out, do interesting things, see more of the city, and meet people, I was searching Facebook for Dublin-related groups that would give me event listings and updates of things happening around town. I simply searched "Dublin." And then somewhere around page 23, after I thought I had seen just about every Dublin-related Facebook group three times, I came across a group called "Boycott Dublin." And here's their userpicture:


"Description:
Just because we live in Israel or Palestine doesn't mean that we are willing to accept racism as a part of life. The way that the staff and management at Dublin Pub in Jerusalem chose to treat our friends because of their race was unacceptable, and we want to make sure that people know that."

So, despite a call to "BOYCOTT DUBLIN," it's about a beef with a bar called Dublin Pub that's in Jerusalem, and has nothing to do with the city of Dublin. But it's a sad story about a conflict and mistreatment, and a bar owner trying to make amends.

A Dubliner came along to the group and had this to say, "First of all, can something be done about the title of this site. It really does suggest that this is about the City of Dublin rather than about a Pub of the same name. I come from Dublin City and when I came across this site it really freaked me out. I decided to join this group as I believe that Saleem and the guys were badly treated. But now I read Esther's entry and it poses a question. Jason, Saleem... have you tried to talk to the manager of this Pub? If he has asked you to be willing to forgive this incident then the balls in your court. I know you have been insulted and discriminated against. And that hurts- I know. But I also believe that nursing your grief is unhealthy. In my own Country thousands of people died because of lack of forgiveness. It takes a big man to take a step like this and Saleem I believe your that big man!! I pray you will find forgiveness in that big heart of yours!"

Poignant, isn't it?

Not a whole lot to report this week! It's been rather quiet, with Mark back in school after his spring break, and I'm home trying to work on my various "stuff." It's been incredibly windy all week long -- downright blustery. But today the sun is out at least.

Last night we had a good laugh while watching Television. An advertisement came on for an Irish plus sized women's clothing store called, swear to god, Oxendales. Like, seriously? Oxendales? What a message that sends out to the larger women of the world: "You're big as Oxen! But it's ok, shop here!"

Speaking of television, I haven't talked about what we have been watching on TV. Sex in the City does play every single night, so if nothing else is on, admit that I will flip over to it as a default. But the US television shows like Heroes and the TLC cleaning shows that I used to really love aren't on the channels we have now, though they do play in Ireland on fancy cable channels. The shows I'm really enjoying are:

Heston's Feasts. Heston Blumenthal is this British chef that has a very pricey restaurant in England that serves all kinds of wackadoo stuff. And for his show he puts together these meals that aim to recreate the culinary experiences of places and times past. Then he serves the food to a dinner party and films their reactions. It's very interesting and entertaining. You can watch an episode HERE.

I saw the English comedian Russell Brand host the MTV music awards and I thought he was utter crap, so I had pretty much ignored him from then on. Also, his hair really bothers me. But he has a TV Show called Ponderland and one night I happened to give it a chance and I found myself laughing hysterically, and then I was sold. I'm not sure if he does his own writing for the show or what, but it's very funny. It's sort of like America's Funniest Home Videos meets Mystery Science Theater 3000 meets SNL News. He plays clips from random old documentaries and makes fun of them, basically. While it sounds like shooting fish in a barrel, I don't know, it's just funny! He's very intellectual, I think, as it turns out.

Some people back home are also watching the show Skins, a teen drama that I got hooked on thinking it was a comedy. The acting is better than most teen ensemble shows, and the writing is not bad either. It's not exactly uplifting, but if you need a little jolt of catharsis, it's a good one to watch.

The other show that was on for a while that was entertaining to watch was called The Convention Crasher. This comedian, Justin Lee Collins, preps and trains for a few weeks before going to different conventions in an attempt to fit in and win the competitions there.

I'm about 3/4 done with this silk dress. I'm going to attempt to finish it up today and then head over for a visit with my mother in-law. I hope I don't fall over getting there in this wind!